


Star Catching

by lechatnoir



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechatnoir/pseuds/lechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fold up a thousand stars and you'll be granted a wish.</p><p>In which Charles Xavier has a glass jar of wonder that's filled with paper stars of all colors. His sister Raven helps out sometimes. </p><p>Erik Leshnerr has a tin jar filled with monotone greys, whites, and brown colored stars in it, from newspaper scraps and scrap paper that he manages to find, or a napkin or two that happen to be in the wrath of his anger. </p><p>They don't know it, but their little ticks and hobbies might lead them to meeting.</p><p>Maybe they'll catch their own paper stars, or maybe they'll catch the real ones instead. </p><p>(Modern AU, non-powered)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glass Cases

i.  
They start with an empty glass jar.

( _A cookie jar_ , he thinks to himself) 

It is empty and it sits behind the glass panes of the cabinet in the kitchen, collecting dust that the maids don’t bother cleaning because Sharon Xavier isn’t going to notice, it’s not like she even goes into the kitchen, especially not while there’s a bottle of liquor in her hand and she can slink off to one of the many rooms that are part of the Xavier estate. 

He finds it one day, abandoned in the fields near the property, while he was playing with Raven and they were too busy laughing and making flower crowns to notice the jar that was haphazardly sitting in the grass until Charles stumbles and trips and there’s a cut on his knee and he’s bleeding and it stings, but he’s eight years old and he can be a grown up so he doesn’t burst into sobbing tears – he holds onto Raven’s hand like a lifeline and there are big pearls of tears coming out of his eyes but never the less they take the jar back with them and they make do with the stiffening silence of the estate and their new found treasure.

(They don’t exactly know what to do with it, but they fall asleep watching the stars illuminate the sky from their window panes and figure that maybe if they wish hard enough, it’ll be enough) 

ii.

When they finally get out of the estate, they decide to settle in the city of New York and attend college there – Raven , to FIT because she can bat her eyelash and there would be a series of sketches of outfits and designs and Charles marvels at how she can do it – he’s not that great artistically and yet his sister is a brilliant storm of energy and laughter, ever shimmering and changing if one doesn’t pay attention. Charles himself decides to apply to NYU – he figures he can work in genetics, the sciences, all that jazz.

(He grew up with books as his friends – books that spoke of evolution and the progression of mankind, how each and every single one of us may or may not have a certain soul mate, or maybe that’s just him wishing he had a soul mate, or someone to love in the way that he sees the young couples stroll by in Union Square, laughing and holding hands and it’s a perfect little niche in a city where you could feel alone for a second, but that second is all it takes to drag you down into a depressive funk and really, it shouldn’t be that depressing, it isn’t as if he doesn’t have any friends at all (he can count them on one hand, actually) and Raven is there, always there because she’s his adoptive sister but they might as well be blood related with how close and in tune they are.) 

He wonders why he’s been so interested in genetics, but figures that maybe he can branch out and do other things – he had always wanted to own a little bookshop, up in SoHo with the fancy white glass window panes and the old French style cabinets and shelves, something that was romantic and chic and sophisticated wrapped up with a side of ‘fun’ and well, what would he know about interior design and all that jazz – that was Raven’s forte anyway. 

(She always likes to comment that his sweaters and cardigans are something that an old grandpa would wear but they’re comfy and rather nice looking, so he thinks for himself and that’s the end of that, and anyway, she’s always trying to stuff him into some ripped up shirt with a bunch of safety pins and no thank you Raven, I don’t need my lungs to get punctured thank you very much) 

iii.

They lived in a little apartment up on 5th Ave by Union Square and he figures that it’s cosy enough – there’s enough books to fill a bookshop, piled up stacks everywhere (sometimes he almost trips over them if he’s not careful or if it’s 10 in the morning and he’s late for his classes, again). 

Raven tends to wake up early, make two cups of coffee – one with milk and one with three teaspoons of sugar and she thinks that maybe her brother is overdoing it sometimes but so long as he doesn’t die from a sugar-overdose then maybe he’s not as insane as he sometimes makes himself seem to be . 

The jar that they’ve carried with them for all these years has started to fill up a bit with paper stars.

(On each one, they write a wish, or something that inspired them, or maybe it was on their mind and they couldn’t get it out so they just had to write it out instead; they’d fold up the paper stripes into stars and one by one they’d drop them into the jar) 

Reds, yellows, whites, pinks, pastels, neon – whatever color paper they could find, it was a star.

(They say that a thousand folded stars in a jar would make a wish come true)

(That also applies to shooting stars but we all know the real stars are all dead and they’re just light years away) 

iv.

In Downtown, Manhattan, Erik Leshnerr wakes up, makes himself a cup of coffee, opens up the New York Times and tears off a strip from the bottom of the ‘Politics’ section before scribbling down a few words and folding it up into a star.

He tosses it into a tin container from an old box of Dutch Butter Cookies that mama had given to him long ago as a gift for getting into NYU.

It has the same words on it as the rest of them. 

(Not that anyone could see them, they were folded up into perfect stars, all shades of grey or brown and occasionally there was a white star thrown in the batch as well) 

_I wish Mama was still alive today._


	2. Sugar Drops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter strolls in, dressed in whites and furs and brings with her ice and snow and the scent of sugar cookies, tinsel, and the reminder of death.

I.

Winter in New York City tends to swoop in like a bird and nestle itself in the heart of the city, bringing with it a sense of love and generosity and something that seems to melt on the tip of your tongue like the snowflakes that decide to lull the busy, insomniac of a city to sleep.

(Or at least try to. If anything, winter is fickle to the bone, she can kill and weaken as quickly as she can bring people together)

The holiday cheer doesn't seem to seep into Erik's apartment - it is bland and cold and there is a little festering corner of mold that gives off a faint smell of wet paper and rotten bread - but he brings out the menorah and hums to himself as he lights a candle and the picture of his mother smiles up at him, laugh lines that are nothing but printed chemicals and glass that will soon fade and gather dust.

(The radio crackles but it's empty static and the sound of a bell or a word as if a ghost whispered them instead, it hums and breaks the silence in it's own way.)

He says a prayer and pulls a beer out from the fridge , and let's his demons come out to play in his mind. Gunshots and cancer and he wonders how he doesn't snap and go on a rampage.

(The snow falls outside, and the sound of a pen scratching on paper rings throughout the apartment. Three holy paper stars fall into the tin bin as the candle slowly burns out)

ii.

Winter in the Xavier - Darkholme apartment is composed of tinsel and cardinals, with a radio that is painted blue and crows out happy carols and it's enough to make someone want to strangle Charles who goes mad with everything - he has to make up for lost time, you see, so he goes above and beyond and for some it’s a bit off putting but he makes it work. 

(Raven tries to stop her brother in going overboard with it all but to no avail. Instead, she’s stuck making sugar cookies and somehow she’s wearing reindeer antlers on her head that have the little bells on them but she couldn’t care less because there was just this _mood_ of happiness that seemed to seep into their bones and maybe it was the snow that was falling gently outside their window but it all made sense to them because there were no more fancy dinner parties filled with the drunken silences of their ‘mother’, or the harsh glares and snarls of stupidity and jealousy from their mother and Kurt and that halfwit, Cain and that was that.)

For once, the chaotic mess is a thing they can call home. It is warm and it brings a sense of connection.

(She doesn’t say anything when Charles drops in twelve red and green stripped stars, but there’s a shadow that flickers in his eyes and it reminds her of that time that they blew up and had a fight, where they would ignore each other for about a week or so, until one of them breaks and it’s ice cream and a bottle of scotch ( _always the finest_ ) while hashing it out over cookies and other things that Raven baked in order to get her nerves and head screwed back on properly) – she doesn’t say anything, but squeezes his shoulder and tosses a handful of flour in his face before shrieking as he retaliates and soon enough they have cookie dough and sugar everywhere but they’re laughing and laughing and their apartment seems to shake, as if there’s too much of their own laughter to contain in its simple four walls). 

iii. 

Alex Summers and Hank McCoy meet on Union Square, by the vendors that set up during the holiday season and it’s as if there’s a mini-village erected in the Square and they have to maneuver and bump against each other – awkward limbs and flailing arms going this way and that as there are far too many bags in Hank’s hands and Alex looks murderous and cold and it’s as if looks could _kill_ \- but they make do, because Hank manages to stumble into Alex who in turn is about to turn around and punch whoever the fuck bumped into him in the _face_ but he doesn’t because the poor guy looks worn out and he’s apologizing like a kid who doesn’t know what to say anything else and it reminds him of Scotty in a way.

Instead he brushes that thought aside and sighs before crouching down and grabbing the bags that manage to tumble out of Hank’s hands and they make eye contact and there’s some sort of combination of gratitude (from Hank) and kindness (from Alex) that happens and hey, maybe it’s just the holiday cheer that’s gotten him in a better mood but they brush off the snow from each other’s shoulders and laugh it off a bit. 

(Hank’s laugh is shaky and nervous, but they manage to step in time together as they make their way through the crowds, small talk and idle chatter filling up the air)

(Sometimes it just takes a little push for two lonely strangers to open up and talk)

(Maybe it was just the holidays, who the fuck knew.) 

The two of them end up wandering into one of the local café, getting hot drinks and a few pastries before sitting down and it starts from conversations about overpriced handmade goods and they just sort of click.

(Hank insists that they’re _great_ gifts and that _‘ Alex, you can’t just dismiss someone’s work when they’ve spent so much time and dedication in making it!’_ ) 

(Alex thinks it’s weird, but Hank starts to prattle on something about science and Alex gets most of it but then come the long complicated theories and he sort of tunes Hank out, thinking just about how weird it was and maybe he should buy a bottle of scotch and stop by Erik’s later because knowing Erik he’d probably plotting someone’s murder slowly and painfully or doing something terrible like dissecting living kittens or something like that because that man was a fucking _shark_ and hell, it was a weird relationship of respect/fear/holyshit don’t kill me bro thanks – that he had with the man).

(He won’t say it point blank that Erik has been that sort of older paternal figure that he doesn’t really remember having (he won’t say ‘father’ because that’s just awkward)) 

iv. 

When Hank and Alex finally part ways (they decided to exchange numbers and to keep in touch and hey, if Hank needed any sort of hand moving things , Alex was mostly available, and if he wasn’t he could always skip class but that’s a different story), Alex finds himself wandering the streets kicking his feet against the cold stone pavement and he thinks that maybe it was time he got his act together. 

(Or, he just needed some sort of wallow-party or someone to focus on _other_ than Hank because _Hank_ won’t get out of his head and that was a little bit creepy, if he was already getting hung up about some guy with glasses who prattled off science to the first person whom he bumps into with a bunch of gift bags and spends at least a minute apologizing for doing nothing wrong and --- it’s enough to set his teeth on edge or to punch something. )

He ends up taking the R train down to where Erik lived, walking along the streets before ducking into one of the decent liquor stores and getting a bottle of scotch because Erik appreciated scotch and with his track record, Alex figured he’d needed it to deal with the merriment that seemed to just suck the life out of him.

(Well, that’s a lie, he knew clearly why his friend - _friend!_ \- was the way he was – it was his own way of dealing with his mother’s death, his own way of protecting himself by not letting anyone in. He kept them all at arm’s bay, what few friends he actually had. He figured that he could count all of Erik’s friends on one hand and still leave room for about twice the amount and it still wouldn’t be enough to fill up an entire hand) 

He figures the holidays must fucking suck.

(He doesn’t know about the little paper stars that Erik writes and folds carefully, and there’s a little flicker of love and hope and he wonders why he feels as if his tin box will lead him somewhere, but it won’t, not really not when it’s full of paper stars. Paper stars that have no meaning or wealth or merit, only weeping wishes that can’t be granted.   
He also doesn’t know that Erik writes, on one little yellow star - _’ I don’t want to be alone for the holidays’_ and hastily tosses it into his tin box the moment he hears his doorbell ring)

Alex gets a smile full of shark teeth and half of him wants to run and another half wants to laugh because Erik rarely smiles.

(Even if this smile looked like he was going to get eaten alive and torn to _shreds_ , because that was _exactly_ how he wanted to spend his holiday break) 

He’s greeted with a bottle of scotch and a rather confused Alex Summers and he bursts out laughing.

(It’s ringing laughter, ringing ringing ringing like the bells on Raven’s antler ear’s, or the bells that Charles hangs up on the window pane and he feels warm, and happy and he doesn’t know why but he’s laughing for the first time in quite some time and it’s – he can’t exactly place a finger on it (besides the fact that he may or may not have to get stitches to his spleen if he doesn’t stop laughing) but, for some oddity, it’s as if he’s connected to someone, someone who is connected to him, and he feels a sort of warmth envelope him. 

(He thinks that it’s his momma, come back to give her little boy a small present) 

It feels like home. )


	3. Heart Drums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a little spirit and holiday cheer might bring them together - crashing and smashing together like two stars fallen off the course of their flight pattern.

i.  
Erik Leshnerr was a private man, preferring the company of books and metal with the occasional fling with the bottle of wine or scotch on the days that he couldn’t quite figure out how to get out of bed and wake to the glare of the sun and the multitude of colors that seemed to attack his eyes like a pack of ravenous , multi-colored, neon dogs.

_‘Neon dogs? Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me.’_

(Maybe it’s his head pounding after downing the entire bottle of scotch but hey, he couldn’t quite help it when the date rolled around and the apartment felt colder then it usually did because it marked another year that Mama wasn’t there to bustle around and make the kitchen hum and pipe with merriment.) 

The calendar that rests on the plain grey colored wall seems to fade into simply boxes with red X’s in it, like a countdown to the ongoing apocalypse that has yet to actually arrive but in Erik’s world it seems to have hit straight at the center of his world. 

(He loses track of time, and doesn’t eat, nor sleep. It’s only the sound of someone banging on the door for dear life that seems to snap him out of his reverie, a constant hum and buzzing noise ever present in his ears as he stumbles off of the couch, now well-worn and matted, cushions meshed haphazardly together and there’s a bit of a dip where his body has made a indent in the fabric.) 

The banging gets excessively louder and he has half a mind to flip whoever the hell thinks it’s socially acceptable to be banging on his door for about fifteen minutes straight at some random time during the day. 

He opens the door and is greeted by one pissed off Alex Summers, who conveniently has a bottle of scotch and a few cans of beer with him.

He thinks it’s almost the equivalent of an angel coming to visit him before he dies and goes off to Purgatory, or even better, Hell.

(Unfortunately, he gets a long-winded lecture from Summers ( _who would have thought_ ) about how he’s throwing his life away by trying to drink it all away and that _dude, I get it, but you have to move on_. Erik doesn’t know whether to punch him in the face or toss him into a pit filled with rats because he would never admit to ever thinking about _kissing_ Alex Summers because that would be _weird_ and he’s pretty sure his geeky boyfriend ( _boyfriend?_ ), Hank McCoy will find some sort of weird scientific mixture that will turn him into something repulsive and then he’d get killed and apparently someone would feel bad for him and yet he can’t sense anything or think of anyone who would care. ) 

ii.

Charles Xavier was a man who played with his masks –he had masks for about every emotion under the sun, for the most part. Sometimes if his mask got too many cracks or holes in it, he’ll toss it aside for a while, and perhaps you might start to think that he’s finally going to show his true self, until he pulls out a replacement mask, all glimmer and shine and lace.

(He wonders how it started, or why. He sometimes feels as if he does most of the work, or attempt to learn how to from Raven, who does it with such aplomb and laughter that it seems effortless and easy, but then again, anything that has to do with change is simply like a second nature to her.)

Sometimes, Charles wonders if it’s because he’s far too empathetic and kind to not derive any sort of emotional attachments with anyone because in the end he’ll be leftovers on the side of the road and no one would like to drive him back, all bloody and skin torn with having his organs pecked out by a vulture out in the desert.

( Maybe he can’t handle it, can’t handle the responsibilities and the idea that he is a leader. Raven just scoffs and says that everyone hangs onto every word that escapes the professor’s lips every now and then.) 

He thinks , sometimes, that Raven’s ability to adapt to change comes across as so flawless and mesmerizing that he sometimes remembers a question to ask her and more often than not , he may or may not have dug up some old notes about genetics and maybe it’s just part of her coding, part of her wiring that it just comes to be so perfect. ‘

iiii. 

They meet at a coffee shop that plays old jazz music and serves a mean cup of coffee in the morning when you need it the most. 

They just so happen to have bumped into each other and paid no heed to it, with Charles profoundly apologizing and Erik has a small smile on his otherwise neutral face. 

(He doesn’t know _why_ he’s smiling like an idiot that he is. Alex thinks that he’s being weird and a bit of a creeper but otherwise he gets a thumbs up in a text from Alex and maybe , just maybe, they can see what the city has to offer in terms of ‘How To Make A Man Happy” – in twelve easy steps! 

(Or so we all wished ) )

He doesn’t notice the little myriad of gold stars that Charles seems to have wrapped around his hand until a little bit of a reflecting trick does its magic and Erik notices the faint outline of lead on paper, and his curiosity is piqued.


	4. Woolen Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee shops and the scent of warm wool in the dead of the winter's chills.

I.

Charles has half a mind to stumble over his own two feet when he first sees the man whom he had stumbled into and really, it was just _his_ luck that it was an attractive young man who was probably the same age as him and he had just ruined his rather nice suit and button down shirt that was really, really flattering to his face and body and no ,Charles was _not_ staring, thank you very much .

(He almost wished that Raven wasn't with him right then and there because she wouldn't _ever_ let this go because she was his vile little sister who was too pretty for her age and he was getting too old to beat up all the fucking stupid assholes who couldn't take 'No' for an answer but he loved her all the same except when she was laughing hysterically at his graceful tactics of 'How to Get a Date : Charles Xavier's tips and tricks ' which almost always failed or led to night terrors and screams ripping themselves out of his throat as he woke up with sweaty hands and Raven had came in quietly, warm and smelling of chamomile and chocolate and she was warm, she was safe and he would breakdown and she'd be the walls supporting him in the dark)

It was as if time had decided to clock out of work and freeze everything because that's how Charles had imagined it and maybe he was being incredibly stupid about all of this. 

Never the less he was a flurry of limbs and apologies and nervous laughter as he spoke to the stranger "Oh - _shit_ ! Fuck! I'm so sorry about that I should have looked where I was going - fuck !"

Erik only raised an eyebrow and smiled (it was that smile that Alex said made him look like a shark and that he looked like a fucking menace and he could practically hear his snippy, annoyed and probably scared shitless voice in his head - _“Erik fucking stop it because you look like you're going to murder some puppies and can you not do that?”_ \- and he had thought that it would scare away this stranger from helping him but apparently that plan didn’t work out quite as planned, which was a shame because he really wasn’t in the mood for some human interaction.)

"It's fine, really - just some clothes that nothing like a spin in the washer won't clean . I was going to do the laundry anyway so you just helped me , actually".

Charles wasn't fazed by the smile , in fact he liked it because it gave this (very attractive ) man quite some character and he liked that about people, that there were so many facets and personalities brought out by a varying range of emotions at a moment's notice.

Which meant that he looked like a Grade A moron and or a douchebag right then and there and of course Raven decided to join them right then and there and did he hear what this attractive individual was saying ?

No, of course not.

"Charles! I can't leave you alone for five minutes - why, _Hello there_ "

 

If he had the powers to teleport or bury himself in the ground, he would have done it then and there.

ii.

He remembers the morning as being dreary, cold, and grey.

(He’s reminded of Mama’s brown skirts, stitched together with warm woolen threads that she brought back from her homeland, an old song humming on her lips as he’d watch her mend the torn cloth , worn from use and lack of money, worn from words that cut and bite and never let go and yet she _smiles_ , Mama smiles at him and tells him that she’ll make latkas soon and to go put on the kettle) 

He doesn’t want to get out of bed, but he ran out of material for his little collection of stars and Mama would scold him if she knew how he’d let himself get carried away, become a mess and disheveled as all fucking hell.

Still, he manages to get out of bed, and he remembers that today of all days he has that presentation for a program in engineering up on Park Ave and fucking hell he needs a cup of coffee to face a room filled with wizened professors and executive managers who just so happened to be sponsoring this program and he can’t afford _not_ making a good impression – so he dons on a suit and shirt and hopes he looks somewhat presentable before making it on over to the quiet little coffee shop that they know his order by now.

He thinks he has smooth sailing from here on end, what with the extra time that he gave himself, a handful of stars in his pocket, and all of his papers ready to go. 

He doesn’t expect to have a crash landing encounter with a pair of blue eyes and wavy brown hair and a charming smile.

 

(He doesn’t notice the stars that scatter out from his pocket as if they were fire spirits running away mischievously) 

iii.

Raven thinks she can set the two of them together once she sees the guy whom Charles manages to crash land and utterly fuck over outfit-wise.

(She thinks she’s seen him around somewhere and that he looks familiar, but maybe she’ll just ask Hank to look into it, or maybe Angel. ) 

Never the less , it’s always Raven to the rescue, whether Charles liked it or not.

(He was utterly hopeless and a fool, and she thinks that sometimes he thought of flowers and daisies and a little bit of a romantic , whirlwind love affair where that significant other would be with him forever and ever but real life doesn’t work that way, and she can’t always protect him) 

She manages to calm the storm down before Charles embarrasses himself even more, and tells the man that they’d get it cleaned and tailored and back in tip top shape as soon as possible, and somehow she ends up talking away with something along the lines of “But hey I think Charles has some suits that would probably fit you back in our apartment so if it’s not too much trouble we can head on over there and we can get you fixed up? Oh, right, sorry! Name’s Raven, I’m his adoptive sister, he’s single by the way, if you were interested, and he likes to make paper stars. I don’t know why, but he does.” 

(She doesn’t really care about Charles’ little glare, or the fact that both men are blushing like kids, but hey, a girls’ got to do what a girl’s got to do. In this case, it’s trying to make up for the fact that her older adoptive brother is an foremost, a silly idiot atop of being a genius, if that even makes any sort of sense)


	5. Silver String and Paper Doves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a suit, a coffee spill, sunflowers, a fight, blood, and a little seed of love that plants itself inside of their heads.

I.  
It happens to be a flurry- a whirlwind of sorts, actually.

That's the simplest of ways to describe it, what with the stranger's - _Charles'_ \- sister _Raven_ \- talking a mile a minute as they slowly moved away from the crime scene of the coffee spill and out into the cold , autumn October air that swirled and danced around them.

"We don't live too far away, just up a few blocks on fifth and 16th street. It shouldn't take too long - where do you need to get to - uh -"

"Erik."

"Right, where do you need to get to, Erik?" Raven asked, all smiles and movement while her brother trailed next to her, a nervous smile on his face. 

“Really, I’m terribly sorry about that – if anything, at least let me get the suit dry cleaned ? It’s the least I can do , after all.” 

Charles mutters, running a hand through his hair nervously as the three of them gradually made their way down the street, weaving through the large crowds who had places to go and people to see.

It’s as if they all blended in, just a simple trio trying to get somewhere, smiles on their faces , regardless of how big or small, or how obvious or subtle they were.

It seemed, as if they were friends, to the stranger’s eye.

_Great first impression Charles, just great._

“It’s no problem, really, just a coffee spill and oh, I have to get to a meeting, down on Park Avenue.” Erik mutters, eyes gleaming with curiosity because it was just a simple suit, ratty and well worn and there are old patches of fabric that his mother had patched up when she wasn’t too sick, back in the day. 

 

ii. 

It was cold apartments and the memory of his mother humming a song, wrapped up in bed with duvet covers and old woolen blankets with patterns of gold and blue and white, and he remembers visiting her in the hospital, old pale white walls covered in dust, nothing hopeful, just the dreary old wallpaper of monotone washed out flowers, yellowing and curling but somehow, his mother had smiled and held his arm as he sat next to her, worry and nerves making him shiver and close up, walls like iron because he needs to have sort of normalcy, some resemblance of stability. 

She smiles at him as she weaves the needle and thread through the old fabric, shaking hands but she finds the rips and sews them shut.

“Did you get into a fight again, Erik?” she mutters, concern and warmth laced together in her voice.

It breaks up the monotone silence that drags on, nothing but the steady tick of the clock in the room, and the beeping of the machines that she’s hooked up to. 

He thinks whether or not to answer the truth, that he did in fact, get into a fight – or well, rather, he was trying to break up a fight. 

It was at NYU that he had seen a bunch of upperclassmen try to pick a bone with Hank McCoy and from what he knew, Hank was currently keeping Alex out of jail for the long run, so he figured he might as well step in, mutual friend and all. Or something like that.

Mainly it was because he had too much pent up anger and needed a release, and breaking a few noses and smashing a few faces into the concrete wouldn’t do anyone harm, especially since it was Sebastian Shaw , of all people. 

He had worn the suit for one of his presentations – something about metal works and physics – the details didn’t quite matter, not when he had grinned like a shark and lunged forward, body twisting and weaving like how a dancer would be, graceful and sharp and deadly, and he thinks of the many dance lessons his mother had given him, back when he had a profound interest in the art, when he was much younger, when everything was painted in hues of soft blues and beiges and a firm yellow like the large autumn leaves that had swirled around his feet, blood dripping down from his nose but he had laughed and laughed when Shaw finally backed off, purple and blue bruises, a cut lip and a little _crack_ where Erik’s fist had connected with his face and he grinned like a maniac, but it was fine.

Shaw had backed off of Hank, and that was all that mattered.

He remembers Hank ushering him to the infirmary, muttering something about how -

“You didn’t have to do that Erik, I was fine.” 

He had laughed and muttered something along the lines of 

“What, you were going to beat him with your textbooks, McCoy?”

Head hanging low as they stepped inside and Angel had taken one look at them both, rolled up her sleeves and rolled her eyes as she sat down in front of Erik and began to patch him up.

“You know, you could make a living out of this – like a caged fighter, something like that, with how you move, Lehnsherr.” 

She mutters, raising an eyebrow as he laughs and coughs and there’s a wheezing gasp in there and she smacks his face gently, tells him to focus and to lie down on the unoccupied cot, to get some rest.

“Some nurse assistant you are, Salvadore. You’re not supposed to be hurting your patients, you know. I could file a complaint.” Erik mutters.

“And what, have someone else come in who’d run and tell your mom and cause her more stress? I think you’re stuck with me for the time being, shark boy”

She goes off to rearrange the ointments and sterilizes the tongs and needles and hums to herself quietly.

It’s a warm silence that draws between them while Hank sits nearby and watches them quietly, glasses slipping a bit as he starts to doze off from the exhaustion, and Angel only shakes her head and goes to clear another cot while it starts to rain outside, painting everything in hues of orange and red and gold.

 

Angel Salvadore’s small for her age, but she’s got enough strength to move Hank McCoy to the now empty cot beside Erik Lehnsherr without batting a perfectly done eyelash or breaking out in sweat.

“Alright kiddo, sleep tight. I’ll be here if you need anything.” 

It’s the sound of the clock ticking, and the sound of old worn out sneaker soles slapping against the linoleum of the floor as one very out of breath and nervous Alex Summers stumbles into the infirmary and huffs out 

“Is he alright? I ran as fast as I could and I heard the rumors an—“

“Relax lover boy, Hank’s alright, just a bit tired from the little scare Shaw gave him. Lehnsherr’s out cold though. I’ll keep an eye on him. You’re welcome to stay, just please don’t start trying to eat McCoy’s face off, I’ve got other patients to keep a watch on, and I don’t need anyone to puke from how utterly sickening sweet you two are.” 

Angel mutters, a rueful smile on her face as she turns and makes herself busy. 

iii. 

Erik had nodded to his mother, said something about defending a friend and she had beamed up at him and moved to ruffle his hair, saying that he was her precious boy and how _proud_ she was of him, and he thinks that made the pain worth it.

She had sewn shut the tear and patted the suit before giving it to him and he had leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek before hugging her tightly.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He laughs, before rummaging around his bag and pulling out a bouquet of sunflowers, and his mother had let out a laugh full of joy that made the flowers shine.

They had kept her company, throughout the rainy days. 

iv. 

 

They had walked through the cobblestone streets, rain gently humming down from the sky. 

“Annnnd, we are here! You boys can come on up , I’m pretty sure we still have some leftover food in the fridge, right Charles?” 

Raven piped up, turning as she unlocked the front door of their brownstone home and went up the stairs, heels muffled against the carpet. 

“I’m pretty sure we have some Thai take out leftovers from last night, if you’re hungry, Erik?” Charles smiled, making a ‘After You’ motion with his hands as Erik nodded in thanks and walked up the stairs. 

“It’s quite alright, I’m not hungry. Besides, you’re already going out of your way for something so small as a coffee stain.”

“Well, I should hope it helps – maybe the other attendants of your meeting would be distracted if you showed up smelling like coffee.”

_They might be too occupied trying to eat you up._

“Alright boys, we have two options – a dark navy suit that Charles must have worn ages ago when he actually dressed like a person instead of a wizened old grandfather in his terrible sweaters – 

“Hey, I _like_ my sweaters – they’re comfortable!” 

“Not the point Charles – anyway, moving on. Or, we have this uh , dark wine colored suit?” Raven says, holding both suits up on hangers. 

“I’ll try on both of them, if you don’t mind?” 

“Of course, go right ahead.” 

He had tried on the dark blue suit, and Charles had to move to one of the bookshelves behind the couch to be discreet, because the suit accented his features even more so and it wasn’t far that this stranger looked so charming and well.

The dark wine suit sent Charles in a daze and he felt like a schoolgirl developing a crush.

Raven could only watch in amusement and let out a low whistle when Erik had looked at himself in the mirror in the dark wine suit.

“I think this one works best, what do you think?” He had turned to them both and Charles could only swallow and nod, and Raven let out a laugh and nodded.

He had left shortly, thanking them and telling them that he’d be around, if they wanted to chat or go for a coffee or two.

Raven had nodded, pushed Charles towards the door where Erik was and said something about needing to work on a few projects that she had to finish in a few days.

“I’ll get your suit dry cleaned and pressed soon, and hopefully it’ll be done by the end of the week.” He had muttered, a smile on his face.

(He couldn’t stop smiling, doesn’t know why except Erik seems to be doing the same thing, smiling.) 

 

“Sure. Oh, right. Here’s my number – I figured, if you wanted to call me and let me know when the suit’ll be done, or if you’d like to chat?” 

Erik mutters, fishing out of his pocket a paper star, unwrapping it and scribbling down his number before handing it to Charles.

“Oh, of course. Right, sorry let me just – “ 

Charles laughs, fumbling around his pockets for the star that he had written his phone number down on, earlier that morning. 

“You fold paper stars?” Erik raises an eyebrow before nodding, and Charles laughs as they exchange stars and maybe it’s a small little sign. 

“Yes, and it seems you do too.”

“Say, Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Do you play chess?”

“Of course I do. Why do you ask, Erik?” 

“Would you like to ? Play sometime , maybe in Central Park?”  
“I’d love to.” 

And that’s how they parted ways, each with a paper star in their pocket, and a little silver hope of love nestled in their heads, and maybe, it was a small start.


	6. Winter Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are old worn out photographs and little kisses, the cold weather, and old paper stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aldfjalksdjflkasdjf;;;
> 
> college and work managed to suck my time away but here's a little update ahah;   
> we'll be moving along shortly uvu!
> 
> also up on tumblr. 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @ chrysanthemumskies

They don’t cross each other’s paths for quite some time.

(Maybe they think that it’s all something that they had made up in their own minds – a figment of their imaginations.)

Erik starts to think that maybe he likes to forget about the suit – it sits idly draped across the back of a chair in the corner of his living room, next to the old wooden table with the box of stars and his mother’s photograph. 

(It’s slowly starting to fade away, slowly becoming more and more wrinkled, old worn fingerprints dressing it up like an old warm scarf, familiar and safe. 

Bending and needing and a little lost boy forgets sometimes, that he is now older and knows how to take care of himself, but the little boy cries for his mother, in the cold dark shadow of the nights, when the loneliness eats away at him and there’s nothing left, just an old photograph that’s slowly starting to fade away and a box of paper stars that sometimes he feels like burning them, because they won’t change anything anyway.) 

Sometimes, he’ll remember it and it’ll be a little seed of guilt – he’s stallng really, that’s all he’s doing.  
Trying to prevent the inevitable since he can’t exactly keep the suit. It’s not his to begin with. 

( _And Mama would be disappointed if her son suddenly became a thief_ )

He makes one star out of an orange sticky note, neon bright against the dull wooden table and he leaves it blank, because there’s static in his mind instead of where a thought process should be happening. 

He wonders if he’ll fade away at some point, but doesn’t dwell on the thought as his alarm clock shrieks in the corner and he rushes out to the appointment that he had made with one of the executives – something about fixing up the interior structure of the metal workings of one of the new projects, something about a stadium for some sort of useless sports event maybe. 

(All that money , from rich investors who could easily put that same money to improving hospitals. 

He wonders if he could purposely screw up the design, and that it’ll collapse on their heads. 

He doesn’t, only because he’d feel guilty if any innocent bystander was to get hurt in the process. ) 

ii. 

Charles Xavier does not mope, thank you very much.

He simply likes to take personal day offs every now and then that involve lots of tea and maybe a bottle of whiskey too because a good shot of alcohol never hurt anyone.

(It’s not like he had waited for Erik to call.  
Not like he made little reminders for himself on his phone and laptop and even plastered a few sticky notes on his desk and folders reminding himself to call Erik. 

He certainly didn’t mark up his calendar with possible scenarios of what days he should be available, or tried to figure out what Erik’s availability would be. 

Certainly not. ) 

Raven doesn’t say anything – it’s somewhat better, because if she was to say anything then Charles would vehemently deny that anything was wrong and that perhaps it’s just stress that’s causing her to imagine that things are wrong. 

Still, she rolls her eyes and mutters something about clueless idiot brothers and then dials Hank McCoy to set up a lunch date and maybe sort this mess out. 

(She doesn’t know what sort of mess it is but it’s certainly a mess and she intends to get to the bottom of it, cupcakes and sugar coated cookies be damned.) 

iii.  
Alex Summers absolutely hates the cold.   
He can’t stand it. 

He hates how he turns into a sniveling, red nosed half comprehensible idiot who can’t navigate left from right – which is how he manages to crash into Hank McCoy, in the halls of New York University, causing Hank to drop quite a few heavy textbooks onto his feet and manages to topple over and fall onto the floor. 

“Shit fuck sor—Hank! Are you alright?” 

“I’ll be fine, Alex. Really. You look like you’re about to collapse and pass out on the floor right here and now. Which would have been perfectly alright if there wasn’t a sea of students rushing here and there and oh _shoot_ I’ll be late to Bio-Chem if I don’t get a move on – I’ll be out in a hour or so, so if you’re not doing anything productive then head to the medical office, Angel should be able to find you a cot so that you can get some sleep.” 

“I’m fine, McCoy.”

“No, you’re not Alex. Don’t make me knock you out unconscious with my textbooks.” Hank muttered, steeling his gaze at his best friend – turned- possible- boyfriend- but – we –don’t –exactly-know-what-we-are-so-yeah and fixed his glasses. 

Alex could only sniff and grab a tissue from the packet that he had shoved in his jean pocket and blowing loudly, letting out a annoyed huff as his eyes started to water (again) and muttered “Fine fine I’ll go. I was going to head on out to Little Italy and check out the street art there but it’s too fucking cold for me to move anywhere right now.” 

Hank only shook his head and smiled before glancing around and pressed a kiss to Alex’s nose and cheek, causing him to grumble even more.   
“Off you go, soldier.” 

“I hope you trip and fall over those textbooks of yours.”  
“How sweet. I’ll see you in a bit, Summers.”  
“Yeah, yeah. If anything, this may be the last time you ever see me if Angel decides to turn me into a corpse.” 

“You’re being over dramatic now _get going_ before I turn you into a corpse by clobbering you with these books of mine.” 

“How did you turn out to be such a sadist. Is there some sort of hidden kink of yours that I don’t know about, McCoy?”

Hank could only fix his glasses again before sputtering at the thought and Alex could only laugh and cough in amusement. Moving closer, Alex swooped in to press a kiss to Hank’s forehead and neck before humming and wandering off to the medical wing while Hank could only freeze up just a little, turn beet red and then managed to remember to look at the time before scurrying off to get to class on time. 

Most of the time, Alex hated the cold weather. 

(There’s a 0.798 % chance that he sometimes likes it. At least when Hank McCoy is drawn into the picture.)


End file.
